


Shakedown (the big one)

by ireallyhatecornnuts (CharleyFoxtrot)



Series: Get Your Ass In Gear [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Face-Fucking, M/M, NASCAR, Rimming, inter-office relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-12-05 23:26:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/729104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharleyFoxtrot/pseuds/ireallyhatecornnuts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He should probably stop treating the guy like shit; it wasn’t <i>his</i> fault that Dean was harboring the world’s biggest unrequited crush on him. </p><p>Dean is a legacy NASCAR driver, and Castiel is his crew chief of three months who hates him. Or maybe he doesn't. It's <i>complicated</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shakedown (the big one)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [partialdifferential](https://archiveofourown.org/users/partialdifferential/gifts), [Team Abaddon](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Team+Abaddon).



> A few weeks ago Misha tweeted a series of pics that showed him and Jensen at NASCAR, my friend Chris mentioned he wants a NASCAR AU, and suddenly an entire alternate universe bloomed to life in my head. Some day I hope to write the whole thing out; suffice it to say this is something that's supposed to happen about halfway through and if I write the AU this scene will be included.
> 
> I did _some_ research about NASCAR and how the teams work (because I do not follow the sport and had no idea) so I could get this ficlet out quickly, but I am by no means an expert. If I write out the whole AU better research is a thing that is going to happen, I promise. If you see any serious inconsistencies please let me know.
> 
> Much thanks to mischievousart for the exemplary betawork, as usual. Best beta ever. Also as usual, you can find me at my tumblr, disease-danger-darkness-silence.tumblr.com.

 The workshop was quiet; even Ash had already left for the day. After the blowout with Crowley and Bobby, everyone’d fucked off as quickly as possible; some headed home, some to the local bar, some to the first set of open arms they could find.

Not Dean, though. Dean didn’t really have anything he would consider a _home_. Nothing that wasn’t already in this garage (or off at Stanford), anyway, which is why the midnight hour found him nursing a six-pack in the backseat of the Impala.

He rubbed a hand down the back of the front seat, leather catching at his skin. “Sorry I can’t take you for a spin more often, baby,” he said. His voice echoed back to him through the empty garage. “Muscle cars ain’t exactly track material. We’ll go for a long drive real soon, though. That bastard might own everything else around here, but _you’re_ still mine.”

He sighed and tipped back the bottle, catching the last dregs of his beer before sliding the empty into its slot in the six pack. He’d opened another one before too long, and soon it joined its empty brethren.

He’d worked his way through most of his provisions and was considering going out for more (or maybe just passing out; wouldn’t be the first time) when he heard a crash from the other side of the workshop. Instincts left behind from a fucked-up childhood (and an even more fucked-up adulthood) jumped into action, forcing him from the backseat of his beloved car; he swooped over to grab the first weapon he could find - a torque wrench someone had abandoned on a worktable.

Slowly, he padded around the edge of the room in stocking feet, toward where the clattering had come from - further down, by the hallway that led to Bobby’s office. He edged around Jo’s worktable, avoiding her tools because even if his life was in danger there wasn’t a doubt in his mind she’d have his balls if he moved anything. He could just barely make out a dark shape moving to pick up an oil pan.

His arm moved back to swing the torque wrench down, aiming to incapacitate rather than kill, but then his _brain_ kicked in, and he froze. Why would a robber break into his garage (fuck what Crowley said, he’d worked his ass off for this, this was _his_ garage), knock over an oil pan, and then go to the trouble to pick it up and put it away?

The figure turned and even in the dark, he could make out blue eyes and messy hair.

“ _Goddamnit_ , Cas,” he hissed. He lowered his arm. “I could have _killed_ you.”

Castiel stood up, clutching the oil pan, expression cool. “Yes, and then you would be out a crew chief.” His eyes narrowed. “Which I’m certain you and Miss Harvelle would spend _many_ a night celebrating. What are you doing here this late?”

Dean clenched his jaw, refusing to rise to the bait. Instead of answering, he returned the question.

“What are _you_ doing here?” he demanded. Defensively, he crossed his arms, hand still clutching the torque wrench (which, now that he thought about it, probably belonged to Victor).

Cas rolled his eyes. “If you had bothered to check, I’m very nearly _always_ here, Winchester. Be that as it may, I left some paperwork at my desk that I need. I came back to get it.” His tone was steely. “Is that a crime?”

Dean sighed and let his arms fall. “I guess it’s not B&E if you’ve got a key to the place,” he said, grudgingly. He stepped aside and let Cas by; the crew chief breezed past him without a second glance, setting the oil pan down where it belonged before heading toward his workspace and shuffling through papers.

Curious, Dean allowed himself to drift behind the other man, setting the torque wrench down absentmindedly. He couldn’t deny statistics: Castiel had whipped their team into shape and, as much as Dean hated to admit it, had done a far better job than Jo ever could have. He should probably stop treating the guy like shit; it wasn’t _his_ fault that Dean was harboring the world’s biggest unrequited crush on him.

Cas was flipping through paperwork: invoices, expenditure lists, schedules, lists of shit that Dean probably wouldn’t even come _close_ to being able to understand. It wasn’t until he got to the back of the pile and started extracting things that Dean realized what he was looking at.

Resumes. Cover sheets. Letters of inquiry. Lists of recommendations.

“Whoa,” Dean said, reaching for one. Castiel snatched it out of his grasp, glaring at him. “Dude, you’re _leaving_?”

Castiel rolled his eyes again. “I’m aware that you don’t think much of my intelligence, but I _do_ have enough of it to realize when I’m not welcome somewhere. I’m sure you’ll find someone to replace me. Quite easily, in fact.” This was said with something of a sneer.

“ _Dude_ ,” Dean said, blinking. He wished that he were just a little bit more sober. “You can’t _quit_. You just got everything _just right_.” Pause. “Wait, you think I think you’re _stupid_? Fuck that. Annoying, yes. Rude as hell, yes. Stupid? _Hell_ no. Plus, if you leave we’re gonna have to compete against whatever team you join. _Not cool_.” Without realizing it, he’d got right up in Castiel’s personal bubble, in his _face_.

To give him credit, the crew chief didn’t look even remotely fazed about the personal space violation. He simply raised his eyebrow, skeptically.

“Seriously, man,” Dean said. He reached for the stack of papers, pulling them from Castiel’s hands. The other man let him, eyeing him suspiciously but not putting up a fuss. Dean set the stack on the worktable, neatly, and turned back toward him. “Look, I know I haven’t been very nice. We were all looking forward to Jo getting your job, and we were all pretty damn pissed when Bobby hired you instead.” He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly. “But you’ve done a better job than she ever could have; she’ll be a great crew chief some day, but she’d have to learn from the best. And that’s _you_.” He jabbed at Castiel’s chest, poking probably just a little _too_ hard; hey, he was drunk, give him a break.

Cas didn’t _want_ to give him a break, apparently, because he snatched Dean’s finger away from him, pulling it away with an iron grip. “While I am pleasantly surprised at the way this conversation is going, Winchester, that doesn’t give you the right to _touch me._ ” It was said with such venom that Dean was taken aback, and he frowned.

“Dude, what’s your problem? I’m trying to make it _right_. I don’t want to lose you, especially to some other team I’m gonna have to race against. Plus, Bobby’ll probably fucking _kill_ me if you quit on us.”

Cas, who was still holding Dean’s finger in a death grip (yeah, Dean was gonna have to try _not_ thinking about that for a second), glared at him. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware that three _solid_ months of antagonism and childish bullying is something that I should just sweep under the rug. My mistake. I’m sure you can see where the confusion lay.”

Dean stared at him, mind racing. He thought back to every single encounter the two of them had ever had, and fuck, the guy was _right_. Of course, he had absolutely no idea of realizing that this was basically Dean’s way of pulling his pigtails; they were both grown men, for fuck’s sake.

Finally, Cas seemed to realize that he was well on his way to breaking Dean’s finger and let go of it. Dean let his arm fall to his side, and Cas turned back toward his worktop, gathering his stack of applications and a few other odds and ends before turning to leave.

“I’m sorry,” Dean blurted out.

Castiel turned back around, a look of surprise painted across his features. “Excuse me?”

“Like, _really_. I’m sorry.” He inhaled, letting it out slow and steady before he continued. “That was a dick move and I’m old enough to know better. We _all_ are. Hell, it’s not like Jo didn’t get her fair share of crap when she first got hired on; it’s not like I didn’t have to try to live up to my dad’s rep. The other guys took their cues from us. We all should have done better, and we didn’t, and I’m sorry. I mean it.”

Cas looked _floored_ , for him. Which really only resulted in widened eyes and a slightly-agape mouth.

Still, when he spoke, it wasn’t an absolution of Dean’s fuckery. “I appreciate that you’ve taken the time to acknowledge your fault,” Castiel said, carefully. “But I think it would be better for all of us if I sought employment elsewhere.” He was backing away from Dean, slowly, and the driver realized that he was afraid Dean was going to _hit_ him. That hurt, but Dean wasn’t entirely stupid, not like everyone thought (which, in their favor, he sometimes hit things at high speeds for a living; he could see why everyone thought he was a complete moron). He’d seen Sammy do the exact same thing enough times with their dad to know that this meant Cas had been in this position _before_.

He swallowed and held his hands up in front of him. “Look, don’t freak out,” he said, the words falling from his mouth before he had a chance to self-censor; alcoholism wasn't the best thing for his self-preservation skills. “But I kind of maybe have a thing for you? I know why Jo was an ass, but I didn’t mean anything by it, and that doesn’t really _excuse_ it, but -”

He was interrupted before he even had a chance to realize how _terrible_ an idea this was, by Castiel rushing forward and punching him in the jaw, dropping his paperwork in the process and scattering it all to the ground. It wasn’t that hard a hit, to be honest: Dean had worse in bar fights every Saturday night. But _still_.

He opened his mouth to object, bringing his hands up in a defensive position, but Cas snaked in another punch, to the same spot which was now gonna be sore as _fuck_ in the morning, before Dean grabbed at his hand, pinning it to his side.

“What the _hell_ , dude?” he exclaimed.

“I don’t know _how_ you found out that I’m gay, Winchester, but I _won’t_ tolerate mockery,” Cas hissed, getting all up in Dean’s face. “Is someone filming this? Is that what this is about? Because I won’t let you ruin my career on a lark.”

“Wait, _what_?” Dean’s head was spinning, both from the hits and the revelation. “You’re _gay_?”

Castiel sneered at him and came closer, his free hand fisting like he was going to hit Dean again. Dean let his other hand go, hoping he wasn’t making a mistake.

“Dude, why the _fuck_ would I let someone film me confessing I’m into a dude? Do you _know_ how badly that would fuck me over? Even for a prank, that’d be a fuckin’ _terrible_ idea,” he said, pushing Cas away from him. “This is NASCAR, you jackass. A gay crew chief would be a scandal, but a bisexual driver would be an outright _apocalypse_.”

Castiel’s derisive expression lessened slightly, replaced by hesitant (and angry) confusion. “You cannot _possibly_ expect me to believe that _you_ \- Dean Winchester, legacy racer, sponsored by _Chick-fil-A_ \- are _bisexual_.”

“Dude, do you see me going around accepting sponsorship deals?” Dean hissed, negating Castiel’s statement with an angry cut of his arm. “I don’t get a fucking choice in the matter, okay? That’s all Crowley. He paired with them after some tabloid in Georgia -- you know what, I don’t have to explain myself to you. Fuck _off_ ,” he said, jerking his arm back toward him and fully intending to storm away from the crew chief.

He felt the hand on his shoulder, but he didn’t have a chance to react before he was whirled around and pinned to the wall. Several seconds of silent, angry glaring ensued before, very suddenly, Dean was being kissed to within an inch of his life.

This probably wasn’t healthy, but Dean couldn’t bring himself to care; make love, not war, right? Besides, he’d spent _months_ fantasizing about those lips, and he’d always been the kind of person to indulge his fantasies when the opportunity presented itself. He let his own lips open a crack, an invitation of sorts, and then came the flood.

Castiel’s tongue snaked its way into his mouth, like a fucking conquering army; Dean groaned, bringing his hands up and around to tug at the other man’s hair. Cas still had his hands pressed against Dean’s shoulders, dominating the situation with extreme prejudice, and Dean would be lying if he said it didn’t turn him on a whole hell of a lot.

They separated with a gasp of air from each of them; Cas had his eyes closed, Dean noted, like he didn’t wanna look Dean in the eye. Which Dean couldn’t exactly blame him for, but he sighed and leaned into the other man’s forehead anyway. Blue eyes shot open, staring at him warily.

“You know, we could have been doing this for _months_ ,” Dean said, smirking. “Instead of being at each other’s throats all the time.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed. “Do you know how difficult it is being in the same _room_ as you, Winchester?” he said. “Your arrogance and assumption that you know all is equally as frustrating as the fact that you’re attractive and you _know_ it.”

Dean’s smirk widened. “Does that mean you think I’m hot? Cuz trust me, dude, the sentiment goes both ways.” He paused. “And it’s Dean, okay? If you’re gonna mack on me, you might as well call me by my _name_.”

“I’m not -” Cas cut off as Dean pulled one of his hands off his shoulder, guiding it downward until Cas could _feel_ how aroused Dean was.

Cas slammed his mouth shut and swallowed. Hard.

Dean leaned in, putting his lips on Castiel’s again, but letting the other man have the opportunity to say no, to reject this if he wanted. They could part friends (well, acquaintances, he supposed) if he wanted, and Dean could deal with that. Rejection was something he could handle; failing his teammates _wasn’t_.

Judging by the growl the other man let out, rejection was the _last_ thing on his mind. He pressed forward into the kiss, his body slamming Dean’s up against the wall, leaving no space between the two of them. Against his hip, Dean could feel the beginnings of the other man’s arousal, and he moaned into the kiss and gyrated, grinding them together.

When they parted a few minutes later, Dean horny like he hadn’t been in years, Cas was panting, his face flushed, eyes bright. The driver smirked, because _he did that_ : Castiel was unruffleable, unfazeable, completely incapable of being screwed with (the thing with the toilet had proven that; even if Dean felt guilty about picking on Cas so much, he’d never, ever feel bad about _that_ particular gem of a prank. Even if Castiel’s reaction had been boring in comparison), and yet here he was, a complete _wreck_ because of a makeout session in a dark corner of their garage.

Dean stared at him for a few, trying to suss out how far the other man wanted to go with this. He liked the guy a lot; hell, he’d spent three months doing a _very manly_ version of pining over him. But he wasn’t willing to throw his career away over a sexual assault charge, especially one involving another dude. Even more, he wanted Cas to _want_ him.

Cas stared back, eyes glassy. He looked _really_ turned on and Dean kind of hoped that meant _yes_ , because otherwise what he was about to do was gonna bite him in the ass.

With a twist of his torso, their positions were reversed, Cas up against the wall. He didn’t protest and Dean took that as a good sign, leaning in to kiss him again, levering himself against the wall instead of against the man himself. Cas went with it, pushing back against him with mouth and tongue, bringing his hands up to trace Dean’s hips and sides. He brushed up against a ticklish spot and Dean huffed into his mouth, nipping on his bottom lip before sliding away from him.

He grinned at Cas and winked, then tugged at the t-shirt the other man was wearing. Cas blinked for a second, then nodded and started stripping off his shirt. Dean did likewise; the garage was a little warm and he knew sweat was dotting both of their skins _before_ they’d started making out like it was the end of days. Now, he pushed forward, stooping slightly and putting his lips to the juncture of Castiel’s neck and shoulder, licking and tasting the salt of him. He let his hands rest on the other man’s slim hips, listening to him gasp as Dean sucked lightly before biting down, gentle so as not to leave a mark. He let his tongue trace the artery there, following it up his neck and nibbling at his earlobe before laving at the spot right below it, forcing another muffled moan from Cas.

Slowly, he started his descent, biting at Castiel’s clavicle before chasing a nipple, feeling the flesh rub up against his tongue as he flicked at it. Cas gasped again; Dean kissed his way down his stomach, ignoring the flutter of muscles there and just as resolutely ignoring the slight creak in his knees as he knelt. He dipped lightly with his tongue into Castiel’s belly button, just a touch, before reaching for the other man’s pants.

He looked up, questioning, and Cas thrust his hips out at him. _Awesome_.

He fumbled for a second with the other man’s fly - button up, of course, because things are never easy for Dean, even when they _are_ \- before shoving them down. Castiel’s preference for velcro sneakers had never been a good point before now, but they made disrobing him _so_ much easier - the shoes slipped right off, along with his pants and underwear (boxer briefs, Dean noted, which he should have guessed because _those fucking jeans_ ). Then, and only then, did Dean look back up at Cas.

His crew chief’s face was flushed, pupils wide and visible even in the darkness, and he was biting the side of his lower lip as he stared down at Dean. His breath was coming faster now, and if the erection straining out to reach him hadn’t been the first clue, Dean would have been able to tell straight away that Cas wanted him.

He grinned, winked, and stuck his tongue out, running it along the underside of Castiel’s cock teasingly. A full-body shudder ran through the other man, and Dean reached out to pin his hips to the concrete siding. He pressed his lips to the inside of his thigh, licking his way down it and sucking - hard, a dark bruise forming almost immediately - and made his way upward slowly, pressing his claim into Castiel’s skin with his mouth from knee to hip. His hand stroked the other leg, drawing goosebumps as he came close to touching his cock but never _quite_ getting there.

After he was finished with Castiel’s left leg, he turned his attention to the right, doing the same thing. He’d been accused of being a tease before, and it was probably a justified claim, but just now he wanted to leave Cas _wanting_ , and he wanted him to _remember_ this tomorrow. He bit down on the jut of his hip, Castiel’s cock twitching in response, his chest heaving.

Dean nuzzled at the other man’s pubic hair, licking the skin below it in soft, short stripes, teasing at his balls with his tongue and then - and _only_ then - kissing the base of his dick. Cas let out a moan that, with anyone else, Dean would have called over-theatric. On Cas, it was _perfect_.

He nibbled his way up ‘til he reached the head, dragging his tongue along hot, fevered skin and pressing down on the vein that ran the length; once he got to the tip, he let his tongue gently play at the slit there, tasting sweat and precome, swallowing the saliva that his mouth generated on reflex. He looked back up at Cas; his eyes were half-lidded and he was watching every move Dean made.

Dean smirked before taking the head in between his lips, tongue pushing it up to the roof of his mouth and dragging it along the ridges of his palate. He took more in, playing with the frenulum with the broadest part of his tongue in counterpoint to his movements, before pulling off slightly. Cas whimpered, a noise Dean would _never_ have expected to hear from him, and it shot a bolt of lust straight to his cock.

He reached down with his right hand, continuing to suck and move his head and jerk at Castiel’s dick with his left, unbuttoning his jeans and shoving them down to mid-thigh, freeing his own cock. He moaned as the warm air of the garage touched his skin, palming himself and rolling his eyes back into his head.

Cas groaned and Dean looked up; the other man was watching him pleasure himself while he sucked him off, and Dean smirked around Castiel’s cock. He swallowed a few times as the head hit the back of his throat, and then, with no warning whatsoever, he let it penetrate the muscles there.

The noise Cas made wasn’t _human_. His hips stuttered as Dean let more and more of his length slide down his throat, and Dean went with it, his own saliva easing the way. He breathed through his nose, relaxing his jaw and resolutely suppressing his gag reflex, and soon enough his nose was nestled amongst the curls at the base of Castiel’s cock.

The other man’s breathing hitched as Dean started moving again, letting his dick slide out enough that it almost escaped the confines of his throat before shoving back down and moaning in arousal. He slid his left hand up to press against Castiel’s hip; his right, he stroked with fingertip and palm on his own cock, driving himself closer to orgasm with every second that passed.

Cas was visibly tense, holding himself back, and Dean snorted lightly. He brought the left hand around behind Cas, tugging on his ass and hips to set up a thrusting motion. The crew chief’s hands, which had been pressed against the wall behind him ‘til this point, hesitantly headed toward Dean’s head. The driver made encouraging noises deep in his chest until Cas gripped his hair, tugged, and started thrusting into his throat.

Dean watched the play of muscles in front of him before letting his eyes flutter shut. This was probably the hottest thing he’d done in years, letting Cas fuck his throat, and it was turning him on like no one’s business, heat prickling his skin and arousal tracing its way down his spine and pooling in his stomach. His cock twitched in his hand, and he clamped down on it, making stuttering noises as he toyed with skin that was bordering on oversensitive.

“Fuck,” Cas said, voice low, and Dean let his eyes roll open and focus on his face. Castiel’s eyes were wide open now, taking in the sight of Dean’s lips stretched around his dick, spit-slick and full; one hand continued to hold Dean’s head still as he pumped in. The other had come down to cup his jaw, thumb playing with the taut skin at the corner of his mouth. “Do you have any idea,” Cas said. “Any idea at _all_ how often I’ve thought about this?”

Dean rumbled in his chest, pleased that Cas had fantasized about him. It struck his errant sense of humor that the two of them could have been having mind-blowing sex for the past three months instead of uselessly antagonizing each other. Instead of trying to convey this, he pressed upward with his tongue, letting the shaft drag lightly against his teeth, and Cas hissed in response.

Dean tugged harder on his own cock, _unbelievably_ aroused and surprised he hadn’t blown his load already, looking Cas right in the eyes as he did it. Cas let out a groan and his eyes rolled back, lids fluttering shut and his rhythm going right out the window. “Fuck, _look_ at you,” Cas said, and Dean hadn’t taken him for the dirty-talking type but he was so fucking down with it there weren’t words to explain. “You love this, you love me fucking your face. _Fuck_ ,” and Cas stroked his thumb down the curve of Dean’s jaw, sending a shudder down his frame.

Dean’s hand tightened against Castiel’s buttock, nails indenting the sensitive skin there, and Cas gasped out a warning. “W - Dean,” he said, voice tight. “I’m -”

Dean pressed him closer, moaning, and Cas went incredibly still before slumping back against the wall, groaning as his release poured down Dean’s throat. He choked a little bit, but this wasn’t his first rodeo, and he pulled off with a slight slurping noise, licking gently along the head until Castiel came down.

He was abruptly tugged upward, his mouth pressed against the other man’s in a harsh kiss, Cas licking the last traces of himself off his teeth and tongue. Dean moaned as his overheated dick brushed up against Castiels’ hip, thrusting futilely and bringing his hands up to cup Castiel’s face.

In a move that astonished Dean in a faraway part of his mind, Cas shifted slightly, pushing away from Dean and bringing his foot up, before catching the waistband of Dean’s pants and underwear with it, stepping down to tug them from his knees to his ankles. Encouraged, Dean stepped out of them, leaving them a puddle on the floor as he pressed closer to Cas.

Cas pushed back, dragging encouraging him to step backwards with him, guiding him toward the garage floor. Before Dean knew exactly what was happening, the backs of his knees were connecting with the front fender of one of his cars - the Toyota, that stupid _fucking_ photo op Toyota that he fucking hated - and he went backwards, sprawling out across the Chick-fil-A logo, bare-assed.

“Turn. Around,” Cas growled, voice heavy with arousal. Dean scampered to comply, the other man’s voice sending a jolt of electricity down his spine as he turned, leaned up against the hood with his forearms, and presented.

Cas crouched down behind him; Dean couldn’t see what he was doing from _any_ angle, and he wondered exactly what he was in for. The only lube to speak of in the room was the shit they used to grease bearings and engine oil, neither of which were really something he wanted shoved up his ass. Usually he was better prepared for this sort of thing -

He jumped, biting back a yelping noise as he felt Cas slide his _tongue_ in between Dean’s asscheeks. His fucking tongue. Dean had done some dirty shit in his life, but this was a new one on him.

The other man grasped at Dean’s ass, thumbs sliding in between the globes of it and pulling gently, baring him for the other man’s inspection, and just as suddenly _there it was_ , the tip of his tongue sliding over his asshole, prodding but not penetrating. Dean gasped, letting his head fall in between his arms until it was touching metal; his weight slightly dented the metal of the hood, making a clanking noise as he arched backward, pushing back toward Castiel’s tongue.

God, it felt _amazing_ ; warm and dirty and tingling like he’d never had his fucking asshole touched before. Dean felt his dick twitch in interest, bobbing between the hood of the car and his own stomach, and then Cas was slipping the very tip of his tongue in and he let out a strangled whimper.

“Fuck, shit, _Cas_ ,” Dean groaned, shoulders flexing in the effort not to come right then and there. Cas chuckled from between his legs and fuck, Dean could _feel_ that, feel the crew chief laughing up against his ass, smiling as he slid his tongue in and out in short, staccato bursts, going a little bit deeper each time.

Castiel slid his thumbs down further, pulling at the flesh there, before slowly sliding the tip of one in alongside his tongue. The man’s saliva was coating everything down there, causing the warm air to feel cool and force goosebumps to break out up his spine. Dean couldn’t keep still, not for lack of trying: it was wonderful, and filthy, and he didn’t think he’d ever been so turned on in his life.

He pulled his head up from the hood as Cas pulled a hand away from his ass entirely, repositioning and slowly slipping his index finger in. Dean bit down on his lower lip, hard, breath coming in and out of his nose raggedly as he tried not to fidget at how fucking overwhelming it all was.

“Touch yourself,” Castiel ordered, his voice low and rumbling. Then he was back to task, licking along the inner rim of Dean’s hole, curling his tongue _just_ so and that was just about the weirdest - and fucking _awesome_ \- feeling in the world.

Dean scrambled to comply, propping himself up on his left arm and circling his right around his neglected cock, precome not even remotely acting as sufficient lube but he was so turned on it didn’t fucking matter.

“Shit,” Dean panted. “Jesus Christ, Cas, so fucking _good_ -” His toes curled up against the concrete; he could feel his toenails scraping it as his legs tensed. He scrabbled across the flooring as he jerked with the movement of his hand, his orgasm hitting him with no warning whatsoever, pleasure pounding through every atom of his body in time with his heart.

When it was done, when he felt like he’d been through the wringer and back and his muscles loosened on reflex, he collapsed against the hood, panting. Behind him, Castiel chuckled again, slowly pulling his fingers out of Dean. It took him a moment, but eventually Dean collected his thoughts together enough to turn around, leaning back against the car.

“Dude,” he said, his voice sounding completely _fucked_. “Where the hell did that come from?”

Cas flushed, but he shrugged and looked away. “An errant thought I had occasionally,” he said, a small smile crossing his face. Dean sat forward and pulled the other man toward him, their lips crashing together. The memory of where those lips had just been spurred Dean even further, and their post-coital makeout session was the stuff _legends_ were based off of.

Suddenly, Cas started laughing, pulling Dean away from him. Dean gave him an annoyed look. “What?” he demanded.

Cas, still borderline-hysterical, pointed behind him. “You came all over the Chick-fil-A logo,” he said, barely able to get the words out through his mirth.

Dean glanced over his shoulder. Sure as shit, there was a big glob of white, smeared where his hand had dragged through it, right over the curleycue C Dean was sitting on. Dean stared at it for a second, and then he started to laugh.

“Oh Christ,” he said, leaning back and laughing. Cas had collapsed against his shoulder, giggling into it like a madman, and Dean brought his arm up to hold the other man closer.

“Poetic justice,” he said, grinning.

They laughed for a while, and then just sat there, slightly uncomfortable but content, before either of them spoke.

“So,” Dean said, trying for humor. “Seeing as there’s an extended benefits package, you think you might stay on with us?”

Cas pulled away and regarded him seriously. “This doesn’t change anything, Dean. I’m tired of being harassed. It’s _exhausting_.”

“Hey,” Dean said, frowning. He reached out toward him, his frown deepening as Cas avoided the touch. “I’m not saying everything’s gonna change right off, but it’ll get better. I promise.”

Cas rolled his eyes and stepped away from him entirely. “I’m gay, not stupid, Winchester.” He started walking back toward where their clothes were laying, abandoned.

Dean winced. “Ow. Reverting to last names, huh? You didn’t strike me as the love ‘em and leave ‘em type, but hey, you didn’t strike me as _gay_ , so what the hell do I know.” He sighed and stood up, heading for his clothes.

They dressed in relative, if angry, silence, the only noise the occasional shifting of flesh or ruffling of fabric, and when they were done they regarded each other warily.

Dean sighed again. “Look, man, I meant what I said before. We can’t do this without you. If we gotta put this behind us and work something out - I’ll talk to the guys if I have to. _Anything_. Just reconsider.”

Cas regarded him steadily. “You want to put potential amazing sex behind you for the benefit of the team.”

Dean winced. “I’m not saying I _want_ to, I’m just saying I’m _willing_.” Then he brightened. “ _Amazing_ , huh?”

Cas rolled his eyes and stooped, beginning to gather his abandoned curriculum vitae from the floor. “I’ll consider it. No promises, though. If things don’t get better around here, I’m out.”

“Better than nothing,” Dean said, smiling as he bent over to help Castiel pick up his things.  


End file.
